Home Game - Week 39 - first time participant!
"Take my hand. Take my hand and come with me. Now. I can give you everything we've ever wanted. I can make every 'what-if' become real. We can be together, forever. Like you've always wanted. Like we've always wanted!"
Tig stood opposite me with his arm outstretched, his icy blue eyes fixed on me, unblinking. Tig wasn't one to plead, not ever. But he was pleading now.
"Anya, c'mon! We don't have much time! Take my hand or we'll never see each-other again!"
I'd become used to seeing Tig in the mirror, once the initial shock wore off. At first, he seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. We couldn't hear each-other in those early days, but the more time we spent looking at our mutual non-reflection, the more we were able to share between our respective worlds. He'd catch the notes of the perfume I was wearing. I'd hear the faintest strains of music he was listening to. It was magic, and I'd grown to fall in love with him. As much as one can fall in love with a vision in one's mirror.
"Anya, I'm serious! Take my hand and I'll pull you through. We'll be together. It's the only way! They're going to take the mirror from me, Anya. Soon. I can hear their footsteps. You've got to come right now!"
The mirror was my shame and my secret. Tig wasn't real. The mirror wasn't real. The whole fantasy was something that could be explained away by the stresses of life, or a chemical imbalance in my head, or an overactive imagination. Surely. But I pushed away those thoughts because the fantasy was too delightful. Except now the fantasy was looking to become real.
"Please! Anya!"
Tig was begging me, looking over his shoulder with increased anxiety. My heart beat a thunder like a hundred horses stampeding. I knew I should walk away, now. I knew that the odds of Tig being real, and his offer being plausible, were not good. At all.
But there he was, all earnest and pleading and beautiful.
"OK, Tig. I'll come."
His expression changed to one of sweet relief the moment I yielded to his request. "Thank you," he whispered gratefully. "I've only one chance to do this, so hold perfectly still. I'll reach out on 3...2...1"
The flat surface of the mirror suddenly rippled like mercury. The vision of Tig was now distorted, but his hand reached out toward me with solid, tangible clarity.
"Take my hand!" Ripple-Tig shouted.
"Now!"
I reached out, tentative, and found his hand to be very real, and very warm. The moment our fingers touched, he curled his hand possessively around mine and pulled. Hard. I passed through the mercury ripples with no more effort than walking through slightly parted velvet curtains. And then I was at Tig's side. Just like that.
"Hullo, Anya."
Tig smiled down at me, radiant in his satisfaction.
"Hullo, Tig."
My voice sounded flat to my own ear, and I suddenly felt stupid and self-conscious. Tig was taller than he seemed on the other side of the mirror. Taller and more magnificent in every way. He had a certain majesty to him that made me suddenly aware of the shabbiness of my clothes, and the scuffs on my shoe, and the mousiness of my hair. His beauty was both otherworldly and savage all at once. It's a wonder I didn't notice this earlier.
"You did the right thing," he assured. "Come on, we've got to go now. They'll be after you. But I'll keep you safe. I promise. They'll never, ever get you."
I followed him, of course. I let him lead outside, and through a maze of hedgerows, and then finally into a magnificent estate - the likes of which I'd read about in fairy tales. And all the while Tig looked over his shoulder with grave urgency. It was only when we came to an ornate, gilded door that he relaxed.
"We're safe," he sighed. "You did well. Really well. That was the closest they've come to stopping me," he said as he withdrew a golden key from his pocket.
"Stopping you from what?" I asked as he unlocked the door. "Talking to me through the mirror?"
"Mmm, yes. Sure," Tig said distractedly as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I'll explain it all to you, in time. But first, let's make sure you're safe. Let's make sure you and I really will be together, forever and ever."
He steered me into the room and tightened his hold on me when I startled at the scene before me. A hundred thousand gilded cages suspended from the ceiling, each one containing an exotic bird of otherworldly beauty. They were singing in perfect, mournful harmony - until they noticed Tig. Then the sound became unbearable - a cacophony of screeches, warbles, and shrieks. I raised my hands to my ears to block the noise, only to be met with feathers instead of fingers. I opened my mouth to scream; a trill of musical notes was the only alarm cry I could manage.
"Shush now, my darling," Tig murmured as he placed me gently into one of the cages. "I thought you were different than the rest of them. I thought you were special. Please don't disappoint me, or I'll not come calling. I expect it's all come as a bit of a shock to you, and you need your rest. That's fine, Anya. I understand. I'll come visiting in a few days and we'll talk. You'll understand then. I promise."
I watched him depart as my cage was raised in line with the others. He prowled with the magnificence of a lion. I'd never hated someone so much in all my life. In time, the birdsong would begin to make sense to me, and I was able to speak to the others. We'd all met him in the mirror, and we'd all gambled on the improbability of the fantasy he offered being real.
Fools, the lot of us. Fools forever stuck in our gilded cages, never to know freedom again or return to our lives which had once seemed so lacking. Years passed, and our yearning began to fade. Our cages were no longer prisons, but places of security. Home. We delighted in the songs we constructed together and took pride in the melodies and harmonies we wove.
We were largely left to our own devices. But one night, a mousy-haired woman whose appearance resonated some distant familiarity with me crept into our room. One by one she lowered the cages, not stopping until she reached mine. She seemed relieved, but I wasn't sure why. She opened the door to my cage and extended a hand.
"Hop on my hand. Hop on my hand and come with me. Now. I can give you the freedom you want. I promise. Just come with me and everything will be fine!"
I sang a pretty melody at her, but it didn't seem to move her.
"Now!" She urged. "You have to come of our own free will! I can't force you, or it won't work! But please! This is our only chance! Hop on my hand!"
I had a vague memory of being offered something similar in the past. The memory hurt and made me ache in a curious and unpleasant way. The details were fuzzy now, but I knew whatever I'd hoped to happen, hadn't happened.
"Please! You have to do it now! I hear him coming! If you don't hop onto my hand now I'll have to leave without you!"
The memories of my past had grown fuzzy and strange, but I knew with some certainty that I'd gambled once on an improbability and it lead me to this. I wanted better odds this time.
And so I pulled way from her hand as far as I could - just as Tig entered the room with a face like thunder. But his expression changed as soon as he saw me recoiling from the girl's hand: triumph.
I'd gambled and lost.
Again.
Tig stood opposite me with his arm outstretched, his icy blue eyes fixed on me, unblinking. Tig wasn't one to plead, not ever. But he was pleading now.
"Anya, c'mon! We don't have much time! Take my hand or we'll never see each-other again!"
I'd become used to seeing Tig in the mirror, once the initial shock wore off. At first, he seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. We couldn't hear each-other in those early days, but the more time we spent looking at our mutual non-reflection, the more we were able to share between our respective worlds. He'd catch the notes of the perfume I was wearing. I'd hear the faintest strains of music he was listening to. It was magic, and I'd grown to fall in love with him. As much as one can fall in love with a vision in one's mirror.
"Anya, I'm serious! Take my hand and I'll pull you through. We'll be together. It's the only way! They're going to take the mirror from me, Anya. Soon. I can hear their footsteps. You've got to come right now!"
The mirror was my shame and my secret. Tig wasn't real. The mirror wasn't real. The whole fantasy was something that could be explained away by the stresses of life, or a chemical imbalance in my head, or an overactive imagination. Surely. But I pushed away those thoughts because the fantasy was too delightful. Except now the fantasy was looking to become real.
"Please! Anya!"
Tig was begging me, looking over his shoulder with increased anxiety. My heart beat a thunder like a hundred horses stampeding. I knew I should walk away, now. I knew that the odds of Tig being real, and his offer being plausible, were not good. At all.
But there he was, all earnest and pleading and beautiful.
"OK, Tig. I'll come."
His expression changed to one of sweet relief the moment I yielded to his request. "Thank you," he whispered gratefully. "I've only one chance to do this, so hold perfectly still. I'll reach out on 3...2...1"
The flat surface of the mirror suddenly rippled like mercury. The vision of Tig was now distorted, but his hand reached out toward me with solid, tangible clarity.
"Take my hand!" Ripple-Tig shouted.
"Now!"
I reached out, tentative, and found his hand to be very real, and very warm. The moment our fingers touched, he curled his hand possessively around mine and pulled. Hard. I passed through the mercury ripples with no more effort than walking through slightly parted velvet curtains. And then I was at Tig's side. Just like that.
"Hullo, Anya."
Tig smiled down at me, radiant in his satisfaction.
"Hullo, Tig."
My voice sounded flat to my own ear, and I suddenly felt stupid and self-conscious. Tig was taller than he seemed on the other side of the mirror. Taller and more magnificent in every way. He had a certain majesty to him that made me suddenly aware of the shabbiness of my clothes, and the scuffs on my shoe, and the mousiness of my hair. His beauty was both otherworldly and savage all at once. It's a wonder I didn't notice this earlier.
"You did the right thing," he assured. "Come on, we've got to go now. They'll be after you. But I'll keep you safe. I promise. They'll never, ever get you."
I followed him, of course. I let him lead outside, and through a maze of hedgerows, and then finally into a magnificent estate - the likes of which I'd read about in fairy tales. And all the while Tig looked over his shoulder with grave urgency. It was only when we came to an ornate, gilded door that he relaxed.
"We're safe," he sighed. "You did well. Really well. That was the closest they've come to stopping me," he said as he withdrew a golden key from his pocket.
"Stopping you from what?" I asked as he unlocked the door. "Talking to me through the mirror?"
"Mmm, yes. Sure," Tig said distractedly as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I'll explain it all to you, in time. But first, let's make sure you're safe. Let's make sure you and I really will be together, forever and ever."
He steered me into the room and tightened his hold on me when I startled at the scene before me. A hundred thousand gilded cages suspended from the ceiling, each one containing an exotic bird of otherworldly beauty. They were singing in perfect, mournful harmony - until they noticed Tig. Then the sound became unbearable - a cacophony of screeches, warbles, and shrieks. I raised my hands to my ears to block the noise, only to be met with feathers instead of fingers. I opened my mouth to scream; a trill of musical notes was the only alarm cry I could manage.
"Shush now, my darling," Tig murmured as he placed me gently into one of the cages. "I thought you were different than the rest of them. I thought you were special. Please don't disappoint me, or I'll not come calling. I expect it's all come as a bit of a shock to you, and you need your rest. That's fine, Anya. I understand. I'll come visiting in a few days and we'll talk. You'll understand then. I promise."
I watched him depart as my cage was raised in line with the others. He prowled with the magnificence of a lion. I'd never hated someone so much in all my life. In time, the birdsong would begin to make sense to me, and I was able to speak to the others. We'd all met him in the mirror, and we'd all gambled on the improbability of the fantasy he offered being real.
Fools, the lot of us. Fools forever stuck in our gilded cages, never to know freedom again or return to our lives which had once seemed so lacking. Years passed, and our yearning began to fade. Our cages were no longer prisons, but places of security. Home. We delighted in the songs we constructed together and took pride in the melodies and harmonies we wove.
We were largely left to our own devices. But one night, a mousy-haired woman whose appearance resonated some distant familiarity with me crept into our room. One by one she lowered the cages, not stopping until she reached mine. She seemed relieved, but I wasn't sure why. She opened the door to my cage and extended a hand.
"Hop on my hand. Hop on my hand and come with me. Now. I can give you the freedom you want. I promise. Just come with me and everything will be fine!"
I sang a pretty melody at her, but it didn't seem to move her.
"Now!" She urged. "You have to come of our own free will! I can't force you, or it won't work! But please! This is our only chance! Hop on my hand!"
I had a vague memory of being offered something similar in the past. The memory hurt and made me ache in a curious and unpleasant way. The details were fuzzy now, but I knew whatever I'd hoped to happen, hadn't happened.
"Please! You have to do it now! I hear him coming! If you don't hop onto my hand now I'll have to leave without you!"
The memories of my past had grown fuzzy and strange, but I knew with some certainty that I'd gambled once on an improbability and it lead me to this. I wanted better odds this time.
And so I pulled way from her hand as far as I could - just as Tig entered the room with a face like thunder. But his expression changed as soon as he saw me recoiling from the girl's hand: triumph.
I'd gambled and lost.
Again.